


End of the Road

by LeapAngstily



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 11:58:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1687493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeapAngstily/pseuds/LeapAngstily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Riccardo gets married, and it is the happiest and the saddest day of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	End of the Road

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Monto’s wedding on May 22, because I was too busy with my thesis to finish it in time. Don’t read too much into the story: I’m really really really happy for him and Cristina!

_When Giampaolo gets married, Riccardo cries.  
  
He cries in the privacy of his own home, clinging to Cristina for support, never revealing the reason behind his misery. Cristina knows, though, she has always known.  
  
Riccardo cries because it is the end of the road. The long and painful road that began when Giampaolo first joined the Atalanta youths. The road Riccardo was never brave enough to walk on, but ended up following nonetheless.  
  
He cries for the chances he never took. He cries for the love that could have been.  
  
He cries, and then he hides it all away, only wistful smiles and friendly hugs left in the open when he finally faces Giampaolo at the Villa Roccabruna for the ceremony._  
  
  
  
The castle is beautiful, romantic, every nook and corner filled with history, memories of past lives, past unions. It is the perfect place for the wedding ceremony. A place they chose together with Cristina, a place that speaks of  _them_.  
  
Riccardo is hiding – the castle is good for that, too, full of hiding places and forgotten corners.  
  
He is happy, he is ecstatic, because marriage is the first step towards his life-long dream of having a family, of being happy and complete. Cristina can give him all that. She makes him right.  
  
And still he is hiding, too overwhelmed with the festivities and the hundreds of eyes following his every move. But there is one pair of eyes that is more painful than all the others combined.  
  
“They’re missing you out there,” Giampaolo tells him softly as he slips into the room, closing the door behind him, “You should be cutting the cake right now.”  
  
His tone is light but his eyes are dark, darker than Riccardo can ever remember seeing them.  
  
Those eyes have not left Riccardo alone the whole evening, not since their eyes met when Cristina was walking down the aisle. Riccardo could not look away, not even when his beautiful, beautiful bride was at his arm.  
  
He was supposed to be over Giampaolo. No, there was never supposed to be anything to get over in the first place.  
  
“They can wait,” Riccardo tries to smile, but all he manages is a forced twitch of lips, “I just needed a moment for myself.”  
  
“You want me to—?” Giampaolo gestures towards the door nonchalantly. He makes no attempt to leave, though. Instead he walks up to Riccardo until they are close enough to touch if they wanted to.  
  
“Stop looking at me like that,” Riccardo whispers, ducking away from his searching gaze. His face feels hot, an embarrassing blush rising on his cheeks.  
  
“Like what?” Giampaolo touches his cheek carefully, just the tips of his fingers running over the feverish skin. He is still looking when Riccardo meets his eyes reluctantly.  
  
“Like that. Like you don’t wanna be here. Like you’re breaking inside.”  
  
Giampaolo sighs deeply, closes his eyes for a while, his fingers halting on Riccardo’s face, “You know me too well, Ricky.”  
  
Cristina once said she would be happy if she could understand half of the things Giampaolo knows about Riccardo. If she could have just a fraction of what Giampaolo and Riccardo have.  
  
Sometimes it feels like a curse, to know each other so well. They have seen each other at their best, but also at their worst. They know each other’s dreams and fears. Sometimes Riccardo can even tell what Giampaolo is thinking, and it is not always easy.  
  
It breaks Riccardo to know he is hurting Giampaolo. It hurts even more because he knows they had a choice, a choice neither of them dared to make.  
  
His breath catches when Giampaolo moves his fingers to his lips, caresses his lower lip with his thumb, almost pressing it between his lips. Riccardo can see tears in Giampaolo’s eyes, threatening to fall, but he has no way of wiping them away.  
  
It is too late to make things right anymore.  
  
“Permission to kiss the groom?” Giampaolo is half-joking, a crooked grin rising on his lips. Riccardo should laugh at him, pull away and leave it at that. There is only one person in this castle allowed to kiss him today, and that person is not in the room with him.  
  
He does not answer, just closes his eyes and puckers his lips slightly to press a hesitant kiss on Giampaolo’s thumb. Maybe they can imagine, just for this one moment.  
  
Giampaolo moves his hand away, strokes Riccardo’s cheek again before grasping the back of his neck, his fingers threading through his soft curls.  
  
The kiss is nothing more than a hesitant nibble on Riccardo’s lower lip at first, but it is enough to send shivers down Riccardo’s spine. This is the one thing about Giampaolo he does not know, the one thing he never allowed himself to explore.  
  
Riccardo parts his lips under Giampaolo’s, returning the kiss carefully, allowing Giampaolo to deepen the kiss, his tongue pressing between Riccardo’s lips and then against his tongue, like looking for the wordless answers from his mouth.  
  
It feels so natural, so right, and Riccardo is terrified of what it means. He lets out a soft whimper into the kiss, his hands searching for Giampaolo’s face, grasping his cheeks from both sides, anchoring himself to this moment, this reality that was not supposed to exist.  
  
There is a knock on the door, forcing them to break the kiss but neither of them is quite ready to let go yet. Riccardo recognizes his brother’s voice calling for him from the other side of the door.  
  
“You need to go,” Giampaolo reminds him, caressing the back of his neck, their foreheads still pressed together, “Everyone’s waiting.”  
  
“I know,” Riccardo whispers, his voice thin, almost inaudible, so he repeats the words more firmly, “I know.”  
  
It is the end of the road, Riccardo knows, when he pulls away from Giampaolo, hesitating just for a second before dropping his hands from his face, missing the sensation of his rough stubble under his fingertips the moment he does.  
  
“Go. I’ll be fine,” Giampaolo smiles at him, and now there is warmth in his eyes, affection Riccardo knows has always been there, even if Giampaolo has never shown it before like this.  
  
The guests break into applause when he takes his place next to Cristina, accepting a glass of champagne offered to him.  
  
“You okay?” Cristina asks under her breath, quiet enough to avoid curious ears. She looks straight into his eyes, accepting and calm, and suddenly Riccardo remembers the night three years ago when she held him while he wept over Giampaolo.  
  
“Never better,” he assures her, because she deserves all the happiness in the world, and Riccardo still hopes he can be the one give it to her, “Permission to kiss the bride?”  
  
  
  
 _When Riccardo gets married, Giampaolo cries._  
  
 _He cries alone in the hidden corner at the Rocca di Angera while the festivities go on in the reception hall next door. He hears the crowd cheering as the newlyweds kiss, and it makes him cry just that much harder._  
  
 _Giampaolo cries because it is not really an ending at all. Because there never was anything to end. Because he always knew what they could have had, knew what Riccardo was prepared to give him. He knew and never acted on it._  
  
 _And now it is too late. Too late to have that dream, too late to share the love that could have been._  
  
 _The love that still is._  
  
 _Giampaolo cries and then he collects himself, wipes his tears on the sleeve of his suit jacket and returns to Silvia’s side, presses a gentle kiss on her cheek to tell her he is alright._  
  
 _And she knows, she has always known._


End file.
